Tuesday, October 8, 2013

I didn't do Zumba with Lillis at retreat, but my abs are sore, sore from laughing.  When we weren't laughing, we were crying, moved by the sweet Spirit.  Our retreat at Lake Tahoe was the best yet, from the worship, to the speaker, to the scenery, to the food, to the fellowship.  Hanging out with Peggy and her sisters and mother was like being a part of their wacky women funny family reunion.  We topped that off with three generations of Fox women with us.  Thanks, ladies.  We're joined at the heart.  The only down side was that my grandson-in-law determined I might not be a good influence on my great grandson after watching certain videos of me ("One little grandma jumping on the bed...")

On our trip up, we stopped in Truckee (which Robin pronounced Turkey) and had our tourist fun winging our way around roust-abouts, and ate at a restaurant Guy Fiera featured on "Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives."  From their gf menu, I selected spicy shrimp, kale, and guacamole salad.  I drowned the heat with diet soda.  Yum!.  It was crispy cold outside where shops allured us to slip into their ambiance complete with fireplaces blazing under magnificently decorated mantels looking like we had stepped into a decorator's magazine.  I felt like Mrs. House Beautiful or Elle Decore herself! 


On our way home we stopped for our traditional Mexican meal in Truckee, the last supper.  It took nearly a decade to pry us away from our ritual gathering place, but I think they finally succeeded.  Some years, it was the bone in the chicken burrito ("Well, what do you expect?  We use real chickens here!" said Miss Grumpy-Pants waitress) to flat cokes to dirty and dingy atmosphere, to--did I mention already?-- an always grumpy waitress.  I think we continued to go because we were in awe of her bad attitude.  This year after a lengthy discussion about what I could order gluten free (which was practically nada), I was served my salad...with a fruit loop on the side.  It was reeking with gluten!  Was it a traditional Mexican fruit loop?  Gayle suggested they were cereal killers.  When she asked at the end of the meal if we wanted boxes, Gayle said "Yes, a box of fruit loops, please." (Not really, but she thought it.)  We left our money on the table topped by my fruit loop.  We were a little loopy after that.  Adios, El Torro, that ends with the little "O" that looks like a fruit loop.  You are like a bad, bad boyfriend who we wasted all our money on, introduced you to all our friends, and you still ignored our wants and needs sticking to your stupid fruit loop!  So this is really it.  Even though you make the world's best chili rellano, I am breaking up with you!  Really, for the last time.  I will never give in to my craving for you again.

 I have my suspicions that fruit loops will show up at all future women's retreat gatherings.  Perhaps we will make necklaces of fruit loops for snack time.  Of course with a table full of women weeping and shrieking with laughter, they were probably ready to bid us farewell as well.  It's a good thing we weren't all that hungry anyway after the fruit loop incident, and after feasting on huge retreat breakfasts--sausage or bacon, waffles or pancakes and pastries, and country potatoes or hash browns, scrambled eggs topped by saucy salsa and bowls of fresh fruit--scrumptious chicken and wild rice and tri-tip dinners with little bitty baby potatoes, and a fajita lunch better than anything from El Torro's fruit loop infested kitchen. 

We had a sweet time with a finale of carmel apples and carmel popcorn from the candy shop in Old Truckee where they stirred the buttery goo in the copper pot with a wooden paddle. We had floated down the sidewalk into their door cartoon-like with out noses lured by the irresistible wafting of luscious goodness.  Once inside they tempted us with delectable free samples of dark chocolate fudge.  If we were Hansel and Gretel, we would have been in trouble: I know I would willingly have climbed into their oven without a push.  I want to run away from home again and go back already!
Change of time...

We have decided that laughter makes the heart grow fonder, not distance.  So, we will began our ladies gatherings weekly instead of monthly again.  God seems to have given women a uniquely wicked sense of humor like when one of His messengers asked Abraham in Genesis 18:13, "Why did Sarah laugh?" Guys just don't get it, do they?  She named her son "Laughter."  "God has made laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh with me," Genesis 21:6.  Laughter is the oil that keeps the machine of this life moving smoothly instead of becoming the whining, "it-is-better-to-live-in-the-attic-than-with-a-contentious woman"...squeaky kind of wheel. 

I came home to read that my stay-at-home-never-been-to-retreat daughter-in-law was nominated on  fb, "the funniest person alive:"  She will have a special invite to come and do stand-up comedy in our room next year since we will be rolling on the floor with laughter anyway.  We have a year to map out our kidnapping of Miss Beautiful Funny Face: she will be tied up, blind-folded, shoved in our trunk and taken with us to our next retreat threatening her with Mexican fruit loop salads if she refuses to cooperate.  Ahh, good times.

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